Breakable
by raspberryjukebox
Summary: "Love is poison. A sweet poison, yes, but it will kill you all the same." HBP. Not a happy ending. Oneshot.


**DISCLAIMER**: I do not own Harry Potter or anything affiliated with it, except for the snitch necklace, Harry Potter book bag, and multiple posters of characters I have purchased.

NOTE: I actually tried to keep a fair bit of this canon, but OBVIOUSLY it's got AU aspects. Where's the fun without, hm?

Enter unrequited love. Enter angst. Enter, and enjoy.

* * *

**Breakable**

_"Love is poison. A sweet poison, yes, but it will kill you all the same."_

Loving her was like a lucid dream. He was in control of his actions, he knew what was going on around him, but Draco always felt like life was blurred around the edges. What he felt was nothing like the puppy-dog affection he'd held for Pansy Parkinson fourth year- it _burned_. Burned his brain, and his chest, and sent the walls leaning sideways. It was solid, and it was sick.

She didn't have any clue.

Draco had never told her, never mentioned his feelings. Hell, all he'd ever said to her were cruel and derogatory words. And how her warm amber eyes would sharpen with the challenge, narrow and concentrate on his own. She rarely seemed hurt by his words at this point, and met each attempt to verbally spar, blow for blow. Often times, she came out on top. And then she would stomp away, down the stone hallway, curls twisting down her back and bouncing with each incensed step.

Draco always wanted to follow her to wherever it was she went to seek refuge after they fought. He wanted to hold her and comfort her when he saw that his words had cut her too deep.

He wanted, he wanted. He knew he couldn't have.

And that was part of the allure, wasn't it? _Look, don't touch_, parents tell you when surrounded by beautiful, breakable objects. And Hermione Jean Granger was a beautiful-_and very breakable_- object if Draco had ever seen one.

Would it be so _very wrong_ to reach out one trembling finger to the satiny surface of her skin?

**_.****_**

Draco was always tense now. He was starting to forget what it was like to feel well-rested, as it had been months since he'd had a full nights sleep. Draco had exactly three weeks. Three weeks to fix the Vanishing Cabinet, three weeks to steel himself to commit murder. It shouldn't be too difficult.

Right?

Draco'd seen it done many times before, during his training. He'd seen many evil things, actually, and always failed to aid the victims of the Death Eaters' sadistic games. From the sidelines Draco had stood and watched massacres of whole families, torture, rape, and mother's screaming. Always screaming.

The Dark Lord had commanded that when his followers attacked any residence to make sure that the children died first. No messy blood magic to get in the way again, oh no. The Snake had learned his lesson forcefully from Lily Potter, fifteen years ago, and he wasn't about to let the same mistake be made twice.

Killing Dumbledore, the Dark Lord had told him, was an enormous privilege. Draco was _so_ lucky to have been bestowed with the task, one that other Death Eaters would literally kill for. Which was why Draco had to watch his back. Snape was here, always butting in, asking if he was done, imploring Draco to let him help. Pah!

As if he couldn't see through the greasy old man's excuses to find the truth that lurked behind his black eyes. Snape wanted to kill the Headmaster himself. Well, Draco certainly didn't want to do it, but he had no choice. So he told his godfather to bugger off and always kept his wand clenched in his fist when the willowy man was near.

The only time that Draco felt alive at all was when he was yelling at her. Hermione. His beautiful, breakable flower. She was fast becoming a drug to him, the only constant and normal variable in his new life. So he'd searched for new ways to aggravate her, bring her shrieking back at him with newfound anger, because Draco learned that she stayed longer the madder she was.

It was one Thursday night, when he was sneaking out of the Room of Requirement, that he broke their routine.

**_._**

Three o'clock in the morning was not an acceptable time to be out and about, Draco knew. He couldn't have cared less. He cared a little, however, when he heard the whisper of shoes on stone coming his direction down the shadowy hallway. A prefect, no doubt. Draco had ducked behind a suit of armor and drawn his wand. He cast a Disillusionment Charm on himself and waited.

Step. Step.

A lighthearted humming, a soft and sad tune.

A mass of brown curls swept past, the wave of lavender scent washing over Draco and completely taking him over.

He'd stalked out from behind the armor and canceled his spell silently. Then, with careful aim, Draco sent a Stinging Hex to the back of the girl's pale thighs. A red mark bloomed for a moment before she whipped around, wand out.

Hermione Granger was staring at him, fear and anger present in equal measure, there in her exquisite eyes.

"Malfoy," she'd growled through her teeth, "what the _hell_ do you think you're doing?" She stepped forward slowly, a torch casting gold light on her moontan skin, crisp white blouse, and red and gold tie. Blasted Gryffindor colors.

He'd said nothing to the witch, just stared nakedly at her. Draco had lowered his wand shakily. It clattered to the floor moments later, the sound of the impact distant beyond the roaring in his ears.

Hermione had confusion written on her face, but didn't lower her wand from where it was pointed- at Draco's head.

"Granger."

So much to say, so much, Draco's head pounded with the pressure of the words building up behind his lips. And he _wanted_ to let them out.

"Granger. I'm-"

Amber eyes narrowed. A skirt rustled as she stepped closer to the tall boy. They were two, maybe three feet apart at this point. "What, Malfoy?" Hermione breathed. Her voice was tense, and Draco detected fear.

_I'm sorry. I don't want to hurt you anymore. I never did. I love you, Hermione, I need you. I need you to love me, too._

But instead, "I'm going to really make you pay, someday." His words slipped out in a low voice. They were rough, and they burned as bad as his chest and heart and head and every damned part of him that was too cowardly to tell the witch what he really meant.

"Pay for what, you inbred ferret?" Hermione demanded, stepping even closer to Draco. He trembled now, at her proximity, and wondered what would happen if he brushed her hand with his.

And here came the words, only they twisted on his black tongue. "For making me feel how I do about an ugly little Mudblood." Before the meaning really registered on her face, Draco took his one chance. He stepped up to Hermione, grabbed her wrist and pulled it down, along with her wand, and lowered his face to hers.

Breath mingled. Noses bumped. Hermione froze. _Everything_ froze.

Draco swallowed loudly in the silence and let out a shuddery breath that brushed over her bee-stung lips.

"What do you think you're doing?" Hermione whispered, desperately wanting the power to bring up her wand and hex the prat down the hall. But she was rooted to the spot, unable to move anything but her eyes. They flickered up to Draco's.

Smoldered, smoked. Gold and silver.

And before she knew it, his lips were on hers. Soft as butterfly wings, Draco brushed his lips against Hermione's. Just once. It was all he was allowed, or he could break her.

Hermione was still frozen to the spot with her eyes shut when Draco released her gently, stooped down to gather his wand, and turned away from the Gryffindor witch.

"I'm sorry, Hermione." A whisper, a revelation, an earthquake, a tremor.

And he was gone.

**_._**

Draco's wand was in his Headmaster's face, a choice clear in his mind. Kill him, and live. Let him live, and die. Simple. Two plus two.

And Hermione's face was in his head, cheeks flushed and eyelashes brushing the tops of her cheeks, a furrow of stunned confusion between her brows. Hermione's, post-kiss, innocent and confused.

Just like Draco.

He lowered his wand. It didn't matter. Draco wasn't alone anymore.

Dumbledore was flying over the balcony.

**_._**

Running from the chaos blindly, tears falling down his cheeks, Draco felt blank. All of his work, his anxiety and obsession, for nothing. He knew now, where he wanted to be.

Standing at Hermione's side.

When he caught a glimpse of her fighting a black-cloaked figure with a mask, hatred for what that mask stood for clear on her face, Draco knew that he would never reach it.

* * *

The quote at the top is by George R.R. Martin.

_A/N: I hope you enjoyed this, at least a little. It came out of NOWHERE for me, and it's a lot simpler than things I usually write. _

_Anyways, thank you for reading._

_-raspberryjukebox_


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